


Long Nights, Dangerous Thoughts

by JoansGlove



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 14:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: She knows that it's wrong. She knows that it's dangerous. She knows that it can never be. But Joan can't help herself.





	Long Nights, Dangerous Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Ifitbelove - Mate, this fic wouldn't have happened without your inspiration
> 
> And as always, thanks to Duchess xx

How many times had she studied her pale reflection in this window? Too many times she thought to herself tiredly. All those nights alone in this office, too many nights allowing her thoughts to wander, to dissolve and reform. Too many nights thinking about Doreen.

 

Her dark eyes fastened on her lips, on the way they twitched ever so slightly at the memory of Doreen's smile. That wide, guiless smile, that promise of innocence... She tried hard to forget Doreen's transgression with that man - the betrayal of her trust - and focused on her fantasy of what could have been, of what may still be if things could somehow change for them both. Joan's lips slackened as she imagined (and not for the first time) how it would be to kiss Doreen, to brush her own swollen mouth against the plush pillows of Anderson's lips, and, how wonderful it would be to have her affection returned.

 

Ohhh, for that to happen!

The desirous image eclipsed all thought for a long, long moment and Joan found herself biting her lips tightly between her teeth as she closed her eyes and allowed the velvet fantasy to stroke her soul. It soothed her, effortlessly easing the vicious tension that had coloured most of her day. With each slow breath she melted into her soft imaginings, relaxing her ramrod stance until her forehead was almost touching the cool glass and her breath fogged the pane, partially obscuring her ghostly image. For a split second, Joan flirted with the idea of kissing that patch of mist, of leaving a tangible sign of her want and her need but, instead, she touched her forehead to the darkened surface and let out a sad sigh as her lids fluttered closed over her gritty eyes.

 

Doreen didn't like her. Not as she was, most certainly. The gulf between them was so wide and so deep that Joan knew it could never be bridged but that didn't stop the way she felt about this girl. Would it, could it have been different if they'd met outside of these walls? She knew that it wouldn't have; what did they have in common? Nothing, she thought bitterly - different strata, different agendas, not least different sexual preference...

 

Many years ago, Joan had resigned herself to the fact that her life would never be an easy one. The only constant in it was Maggie, but what they had now was more spiritual; it sustained her but it didn't always maintain her, divided as they were by thousands of kilometres. Her life here and now was a challenge, an exercise in management and control of her emotions - and it was exhausting. She needed succour.

 

Joan balled her fists and slammed them down on the broad sill. Damn Jackson! Damn him and all the memories that the sight of him had dredged up! He was the catalyst for some of her most painful and damaging thoughts. If he wasn't here at Wentworth, would she be having these inappropriate feelings for Doreen? It had never happened before and god knew that she wasn't the first aboriginal girl (pregnant or not) to find herself in a place like this and under Joan's care.

 

But, oh! Doreen! Doreen…! Joan pushed herself from the windowsill and paced aimlessly around her silent office. The heavy weight of her bun seemed to pull back her head until her unfocused gaze skated across the ceiling, and her long fingers flexed by her sides as uncomfortable thoughts chased around her tired mind. She'd tried to shut down these feelings of hers, she knew how inappropriate they were. But the old adage kept coming back to her: the heart wants what the heart wants - and rightly or wrongly, she wanted Doreen Anderson.

 

Morosely, Joan flung herself into her big black chair and pulled up her personal CCTV files. Strictly speaking, she had no reasonable excuse to store footage of Doreen, these were for her own personal gratification, a serious infringement of Board policy and grounds for severe disciplinary action. Her finger poised over the mouse, Joan closed her eyes and let out a great sigh as she thought of her favourite clip, the one in the yard where Doreen was tending the roses.

She let her hand slide off the desk and spun her chair around to gaze out of the window again, watching blankly as the high evening clouds melted into the darkening sky, and she unconsciously conjured an image of a silken rosebud brushing Doreen’s enticing mouth. Imagining it caressing the full bow of her lower lip, imagining the flower trailing down over her chin, down her tawny throat and ghosting over the sumptuous swell of her décolletage…

 

Joan’s long fingers stroked the smooth chrome of the chair’s frame as she daydreamed of Doreen, of her lying back on a bed of blossoms in an almost pre-Raphaelite scene, a sultry smile playing in her trusting eyes and her dark skin invitingly lustrous as she spread petals over her arresting curves. And Joan knew just how it would be to kiss her, to taste her mouth and to quiver at the touch of her tongue. She knew too, how sinfully good it would be to gather her up in her strong arms and stroke away all of her fears. And it killed her to know that it would never happen.

Her chin dropped and she closed her eyes once more, screwing them up as she let out a guttural sigh of longing and despair. This fucking prison! she railed, if it weren’t for this place she wouldn’t be finding herself in this impossible situation! Her heart wouldn’t be raw. Her thoughts wouldn’t be fragmented. And she wouldn’t be craving what she so desperately wanted but knew she could never have.

 

Restless. That’s what she was, restless and unsettled. She needed to draw a line under this and gain some perspective or it would be the ruin of her. Her Father, as always, was right: she needed to rein in all the emotions this matter evoked and start thinking logically again. She had to regain total control or face the unthinkable consequences.

Galvanised by this thought she stood up, ignoring the clatter as her chair skittered into the desk, and she strode to the window once more. The planter boxes drew her attention, reminding her of the very first time she saw Doreen, reminding her of the night she gave her the garden project. Jesus! she admonished herself, she had to stop this before she was wholly consumed by this infatuation!

Joan blinked hard and tried to banish these perilous thoughts of hers. Yet, her face, now more clearly defined in the darkened window, was still a mask of longing. She interrogated her eyes, searching deep for something that had no name, something that she might not even recognise were she to find it...

 

To remind herself of just why she couldn’t have what she wanted, how dangerous it was to want a prisoner, Joan took out Jianna’s file and flipped open the front cover. In the dimness of her office she was transported back to those days at Blackmoor when she’d cared for her special girl. Cared too much. Hesitant fingers stole over Jianna’s photograph, as if she were scared that by touching it too much she would wear it away and erase the memory of her lost love.

 

The crackling voice on her radio cut through her thoughts like a buzz saw. “Sierra six to sierra two, there’s a delivery for you at the front desk.”

“Received, sierra six,” she confirmed then pressed the call button again. “Sierra two to sierra three.”

“Governor?” came Vera’s response.

“Bring Anderson to the kitchen in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Governor,” Vera replied and Joan could almost hear the cogs whirring in her Deputy’s fevered little imagination as she tried to work out what she was up to.

 

Pulling herself together, Joan took a deep breath and quit her office. Her heels rang loudly in the deserted corridor as she strode towards Reception and she recalled once more the whining incomprehension in Warner’s earlier question: “what’s wrong with you?” the stupid girl had demanded. It had stopped her dead in her tracks, it had pierced her armour so effectively that she’d been at a temporary loss for words.

What was wrong was that she cared too deeply to ever let it show. To do that would be a nail in her coffin, leverage for her enemies. But to show a little compassion, well, that wasn’t such a bad thing was it? People did it all the time. That was why she’d broken with her own internal protocol and arranged a late-night grocery order.

 

The Governor paused by the security gates and settled her features into an impassive mask, pushing down the sense of anticipation that welled in her chest as she straightened her uniform in the reflection from one of the half-glazed offices that lined the corridor.

Bakula was on duty and the lazy slob barely raised his head from his newspaper as she collected the insulated box and exited smartly, making her way quickly to the kitchen to prepare for Doreen’s visit.

 

*****

 

As she watched the beads of condensation grow on the cardboard tub Joan found her thoughts returning to her time at Blackmoor. To Jianna, and the little things that she had done to make her happier. The memories were so bitter-sweet that her eyes misted with tears and she stared up at the grimy fluorescent strip as she blinked them away. She knew that she would never have the same bond with Doreen that she’d had with Jianna but, if she could at least make Doreen happy for a while, they might have a slim chance of building an understanding between them. To expect a friendship was a step too far - she knew that - but she wanted to look at Doreen and not see that habitual mixture of wary distrust and fear in her face. She wanted to see Doreen smile. Just like Jianna had.

 

The swish of the door pulled her from her thoughts and Joan turned to see Vera and Doreen silhouetted in the light from the corridor. Vera stepped aside and let the prisoner enter. Doreen looked around the dim kitchen with apprehension as Vera exited wordlessly.

“Come on over,” invited Joan, she tried to sound friendly, yet Doreen hung back. “Come on, I don’t bite,” she assured the nervous girl who waited hesitantly at the end of the stainless-steel counter. Doreen moved closer yet still hung back, her dark eyes glittered with apprehension and Joan's throat tightened with all the things she wanted to say to prove to the precious girl that she wasn’t someone to be feared. She tried for some small talk to ease the tension - like a normal person. “Not long now, hmm?” she enquired indicating Doreen’s swollen belly with an awkward flutter of her hand.

“Only a few weeks,” came the subdued reply.

“Hmm,” murmured Joan in acknowledgement, struggling to find a plausible explanation for this late-night meeting. She wanted to say something more to break the tension but all that came to mind were her private desires and she bit down on the urge to reveal herself, so, in the absence of something neutral, she shoved the tub along the scratched surface towards the nervous girl, quickly followed by a spoon. “Ice cream? Choc chip.” The words seemed to fall awkwardly from her dry mouth, as if she were trying them out for the first time.

 

From the corner of her eye she saw Vera peeking in through the door glass with a mistrustful (and, thought Joan, a jealous) expression on her pinched face. What on earth did Vera think she was going to do to Riley? Something had changed in Vera recently and Joan was at a loss to work out what it was that had insinuated itself between them, but she couldn’t think about that now. Not when this girl’s happiness was her current goal.

“For real?” asked Doreen in amazement.

“For real,” confirmed Joan and smiled softly at the sudden craving that flashed over the girl’s sleepy face.

 

Doreen tore off the lid but stopped and eyed Joan, “wait, what have I got to do for it?” she asked warily, “what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” smiled Joan, “just...eat it. As much as you want.” It felt good to be able to do something nice, and Joan watched intently as she scooped out a spoonful and let it melt on her tongue with a groan of delight. Her moans of pleasure were almost sexual and Joan felt a strong reaction build between her thighs. “Good?” she asked huskily.

“Mmmm, that is better than good. That’s bloody awesome!” groaned Doreen in near ecstasy. She suddenly realised that she’d sworn in front of the Governor, “oh, shit!” she exclaimed in horror, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear,” she said apologetically, her dark eyes scanned Ferguson’s face for displeasure. She was surprised to see the Governor smile indulgently at her.

“Don’t worry about it,” assured Joan softly with an amused grin, “as long as you enjoy it, Jianna, that’s all that matters... Eat as much as you want.” She could spend all night listening to those small sighs of pleasure, making her girl happy.

 

Doreen paused and stared at Ferguson in wide eyed confusion. Who the fuck was Jianna? But the lure of the ice cream was too strong and she dismissed this thought as she spooned more of the awesome vanilla-y chocolatey bliss into her mouth. To her relief, Ferguson didn’t seem to notice her surprise, in fact she seemed totally focused on watching her eat and nothing else. It was creepy but she wasn’t about to pass up something that she’d been craving for so long.

 

For the first time in months, Joan was at peace. Such a simple thing as giving pleasure to someone she cared about seemed to cleanse her soul and she felt her face crease in a rare, natural smile that radiated through her being like a shaft of pure sunlight. Jianna should always be happy she thought to herself.


End file.
